


fix me (fix us)

by bucketfulloffandom



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Angst, Fake AH Crew, I feel like I should apologize for this for some reason, M/M, maybe unrequited mavin if u squint, singular yike
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 08:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9377090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketfulloffandom/pseuds/bucketfulloffandom
Summary: Gavin's past finds him again in the most unfortunate of circumstances.





	1. Michael

**Author's Note:**

> um. here's something.
> 
> nothing like coming back from not writing for months with something straight out of left field, right? if i fail my finals it's because i was writing this instead i'm sorry
> 
> as always, kudos+comments are greatly appreciated and give me the will to live. thanks <3

Everything is going just as according to plan—as supervillain as Geoff admits that sounds, as he updates everyone over their earpieces—when Michael sees Gavin stop dead just before they duck into a side alley.

“Gav?” He pauses, pokes his head back out into the open to try to see what his partner is staring at with such wide, incredulous eyes. “What’s the deal?”

There’s a man standing a little ways down the street, staring right back at them. Michael squints; he can make out dark, tousled hair, sunlight glinting off something hung around his neck, and an expression of complete and total shock. Gavin makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“Gav-” Sirens shrieking just around the corner behind them cuts him off. “ _Gavin!_ ” Gavin suddenly seems to come back to himself, snapping back into this reality, just in time to stumble into the alley after Michael a second before a police car comes screeching down the road. Michael hauls him out of sight behind a dumpster, tugging him close.

They sit in silence for a few long moments, until the sound of the sirens fades away down the streets of Los Santos. As soon as Michael loosens his grip on Gavin’s collar, the Brit scrambles to his feet and trips out of the alley with such a franticness that Michael feels a jolt of concern run through him.

He follows Gavin out onto the sidewalk, asking, “What just happened, who was that?”

Gavin’s rooted to the pavement. The man is nowhere to be seen.

“Gavin, come on.” Michael touches a hand to his shoulder. “What was that about?”

A shudder runs through Gavin; he blinks rapidly a few times, then recovers himself. He shrugs Michael’s hand off and shakes his head. “I- yeah. No, it was- it was nothing. It’s alright.”

Michael doesn’t believe a single word of his incoherent reassurances. “Don’t bullshit me, dude, I’ve known you for too long for that to work.”

Gavin bites his lip, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Really, Michael, I…” He trails off. Before he can pick back up again, their earpieces crackle with static and Geoff’s voice comes in.

“You two lunatics still alive?”

Gavin jumps. Michael answers back with a noncommittal, “As much as a criminal on the city’s top 10 most wanted list can be.” He glances over at Gavin, who avoids his gaze. “Alright, boy. Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

Gavin isn’t the same for a while. He hides it well enough, but Michael- Michael knows him better than that. He figures he’s not the only one in the crew—they all sense that something’s amiss—but no one else is able to put their finger on it like Michael has.

Gavin never really talks about what he did before Geoff took him in. No one ever really bothered asking. The past is the past, and unless it involves a bounty on your head or a target painted on your back, it's past any of their concerns.

But this… This is something worth asking about.

Michael corners Gavin one day, backs him into one of the spare rooms of the penthouse and locks the door behind him. Gavin’s green eyes dart from Michael to the door to his own hands, folded in his lap as he sits down on an antique armchair.

“You need to explain what happened the other day, man,” Michael says firmly. He crosses his arms and leans against the door, eyebrows furrowed. “So start now.”

Gavin swallows hard. “Michael, boy, I don't…”

“I'm not going to let you stumble around like a dolt for the next three weeks because of some random asshole you saw on the streets,” Michael insists. “So fucking spill the beans.”

Words seem to die in Gavin’s throat. Michael waits, patient, silent.

Finally—a sigh, and a mumble: “Just…  a bloke I knew back home. In Britain.”

Michael raises a brow. “And?”

“And nothing else. I just- didn’t expect to see him here. Took me by surprise.” Gavin is actively avoiding his gaze now, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “That’s it.”

“You are a terrible fucking liar,” Michael says bluntly.

Gavin’s entire body seems to tense. “I’m not _lying_ -”

“Jesus fucking Christ, man, how dumb do you think I am?” Michael strides across the room to stand over Gavin, glaring down at him. “I don’t know what the huge god damn deal is, but it’s gotta stop now-”

“Could you leave me alone?!”

Michael takes a step back as Gavin rises to his feet, anger in his eyes. “Gav-”

“God, you won’t just let me be, Michael, come _on!_ Can’t a guy have _anything_ to himself?” Gavin looks downright furious - it’s a little scary, in all honesty. He shoves past Michael, shoulders bumping roughly. Michael doesn’t try to stop him. He pushed too hard, and this is what he gets for it.

Still, he can’t _not_ call out, “Wait- where are you going?”

Gavin turns a steely green gaze on him for just a moment. “Out. For a little bit. I’ll be back by tomorrow.”

And so he goes.


	2. Gavin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin's past catches up with him.

Gavin doesn’t make it two blocks before an achingly familiar voice quips, “So this is where you buggered off to, huh?”

He turns, and there he is.

He’s less clean-shaven than Gavin remembers, and something about his face seems older - but that’s only to be expected. His hair is shorter, but still long enough to be mussed when he runs his fingers through the dark strands. Other than that, it’s all the same - the same warm, tired eyes, the same thick brows and crooked nose, somehow, and-

It doesn’t make sense, but Gavin isn’t going to question a miracle.

“ _Dan_ ,” he exhales. “ _Dan_ , oh my god, I don’t- how-?”

He takes an unsteady step towards Daniel Gruchy, the man he thought was dead. Dan doesn’t move, watching him approach with an unreadable expression.

“Dan, my god, I missed you so much,” Gavin all but wails, “you don’t even know-” He stops abruptly when he realizes Dan isn’t holding out his arms for the hug he used to greet Gavin with when he'd come home after two months out who-knows-where, or offering any silly banter in response to him, or even _smiling_. “Dan?”

When Dan speaks again, Gavin notices too late the bitterness on his tongue. “Gavin.”

A sick wave of dread washes over Gavin. “Dan- B-”

Dan stiffens. “Don't,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “Don't fucking call me that.”

“What- I don't get it, Dan, what's the matter?” The world seems to spin around Gavin, the ground unsteady under his feet as he tries to find his footing again.

“ _What’s the matter?_ ” Dan’s eyes flash dangerously. “You left me back there in England without a single word—not even a stupid note on the kitchen table or a ‘hey I'm leaving and never coming back’ text— _nothing_. You just left me behind and started a new life, didn't you? Decided old Dan wasn't worth it anymore and wanted something new.” He might as well be spitting venom. “A _crew_ , Gav, really? I asked around once I got here—I heard about the six-man crew running the city, but _you?_ ”

Gavin’s eyes well with tears. “B-”

“Stop fucking calling me that!” Dan roars. “You lost the right to call me that when you _abandoned_ me without a second thought!”

“I thought you were _dead!!_ ”

Dan recoils. “ _What?_ ”

Gavin tries—and subsequently fails—to stop the tears from falling. They run, hot and wet, down his cheeks, as he chokes, “They told me you were _dead_ , Daniel, I got a letter in the mail and a phone call and they told me you _died_.” He fights back an ugly sob, just barely. “And of course I believed them. I didn't even know where they sent you, Dan, how could I have known you were anything but what they told me?”

Dan’s expression is an incomprehensible mess of confusion, disbelief and something like anguish. “I- I didn't know-”

“Of _course_ you didn't know, because I thought you were dead!! I sure as fuck cried about it for days on end, but I wasn't going to leave a sticky note on the fridge for my dead friend, was I?” This time, Gavin can't stop the whimper that slips out between words. “You don't know how bad it was for me, back there, knowing you were gone and I never even said _goodbye_.”

The memories come rushing forth, the dam that'd been cracked at the sight of Dan that day of the heist fully breaking down.

Denial first, then anger, bargaining, depression. Finally, some bitter kind of acceptance.

The five stages of grief.

A gram of cocaine, a bottle of vodka. Broken glass, broken fingers, the bathroom sink running red. Drunken prayers too tearful to understand. Five straight days in bed wearing the same clothes and eating nothing but a few crackers dry on his tongue, and the SMG’s other half disappearing off the radar.

Packing every damn thing worth holding onto and catching a flight to the crime empire of Los Santos—far from turf he knew every corner of, far from home, far from the emptiness of their apartment filled with a dead man’s things.

And now this.

When Gavin comes back to himself, he's enveloped in a familiar embrace, a familiar warmth around him and an all-too-familiar voice murmuring _I'm so sorry holy shit Gav I had no idea oh my god will you ever forgive I'm so_ sorry _-_

Dan’s scruff against the side of his neck is a new feeling; Gavin sniffs and buries his face into Dan’s shoulder. Dan hugs him impossibly closer.

“I missed you so much,” Gavin says, muffled.

“I missed you too,” Dan replies, “when I wasn't absolutely livid about you leaving me. God, I wish I knew.”

“It's alright.” Gavin pulls back to look his life-long friend in the eye. “You're here now.”

Dan smiles, a little sadly, a little regretfully. “I guess so.” His gaze drops. “I, uh. Sorry for yelling at you.”

“S’alright.” His nerves still tingle from the stress of Dan’s unchecked anger being directed at him, but Gavin is okay with it. Dan— _his_ Dan—is back, and nothing else matters.

“Do you want to… I don't know, come by my apartment? I feel like we have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yeah,” Gavin mumbles. “I guess we do.”

 

* * *

 

Dan’s place is smaller than their old shared home back in England, but cozy. It's littered with empty beer bottles and crumpled newspapers, but after all those years living together, Gavin’s used to it. Dan sweeps a pile of unfolded laundry off to the side to make room on the couch and gestures for Gavin to sit. Grinning only a small bit unsteadily at him, he obliges.

“So,” Dan begins, “your… crew.”

Gavin flushes. How is he supposed to explain this? How is he supposed to explain to a man who knows him only as the young mastermind of every con they ever pulled off that he's now the number one decoy—the dumb blond, per say—whose plans only go through if everyone agrees with them? He doesn't mind his position now; his crew knows he's not stupid, and they're _definitely_ successful, but he just doesn't know if Dan will get it.

“My crew.” Gavin laces his fingers together. Dan glances down at them, then back up to his face, his gaze intense. “They're… they're good guys. Geoff heard word about me a little after I got here and offered me a spot. It was just him and Jack then. Didn't have anything else for me here, so I joined.” Dan presses a bottle of beer into his hand, setting his own on the coffee table. Gavin smiles gratefully, opens it and takes a swig. “Michael came along pretty soon after, then Ray and Ryan, and…” He trails off.

_And Jeremy, and his buddies Matt and Trevor, the trio that'd been tearing up the north end of town; Mica, at Geoff’s wife Griffon’s suggestion, Lindsay from down the street. Some other guys that come and go—some kid named Andy that Michael had to haul in after a night of drinking, a shifty bloke named Larry, Steffie, who knows every hangover cure in existence, Caleb and Kdin, who've moved on to other parts of the city._

Gavin figures Dan doesn't need the whole roster. Instead, he says, “We’re at the top of the hierarchy, I guess. Lately, though, we haven't really done much. Kicking back.”

Dan snorts. “Which is why you guys robbed four gas stations and a corner shop in a row last week.”

Gavin grins, and shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Speaking of,” Dan says, leaning forward in interest, “who was the guy with you? When I saw you last week.”

“Oh, that was Michael.” Gavin smiles. “He's my…”

The conversation from earlier today hits him again.

“My, uh. My friend,” he finishes lamely. “We’re close.”

Dan raises an eyebrow. “Closer than you and me?”

The fact that Gavin has to stop and consider the question unsettles him. “Well, uh.”

The laugh Dan gives him is more relief than he expected. “I'm kidding, it's fine. It's been, what, three or four years? Of course you're gonna have new friends.” He sets a hand gently on Gavin’s knee. “Listen, I'm just glad to see you again, B.”

Suddenly, Gavin feels like he's going to cry. “Me too, B.”

He looks up at Dan, really just _looks_ at him, for what seems like the first time in forever. It strikes him, then, how pretty Dan’s eyes are—brown and green and so very _kind_ , as he watches Gavin contently.

Dan’s hand hasn't moved from where it's settled on Gavin’s leg. Gavin places one of his own hands over it, squeezes lightly.

Finally, into the strange silence, Dan asks, “Do you have anywhere to be tonight?”

Gavin remembers what he'd told Michael— _be back tomorrow_ —and shakes his head. Dan’s grin is wicked as he raises his beer bottle.

“Then let's get hammered.”

 

* * *

 

Gavin's not sure who kisses who first—all he knows is that Dan’s eyes are still so pretty and his lips are so soft and he missed him so damn much-

One kiss becomes two, then three, until Gavin loses count and all his alcohol-muddled mind registers is Dan’s hands on his hips and Dan’s mouth against his own, slow and unhurried like the rest of him.

“I missed you, so fucking much,” Gavin admits for the fiftieth time, breathless. “Knowing you were dead and I never _told_ you how much you meant to me-”

Another kiss, firmer, shuts him up. “Don't want to hear about you thinking I was dead,” Dan mumbles, tugging him impossibly closer. “Love you too much to make you remember all that.”

Gavin’s heart swells. “Say that again.”

Dan frowns, confused. “Said I don’t want to hear you-”

“No, the other part, you idiot.”

Realizing what he's asking for, Dan smiles widely. “Love you too much,” he begins again, but doesn't finish, because that’s enough.

“Love you too.” They kiss again, less searching and more affirming. “Should’ve told you ages ago. Should’ve- fuck, we could’ve been doing this years ago.” Dan laughs against his lips, a puff of mingled air.

“You’re a right idiot,” he sighs.

Gavin rests his forehead against Dan’s, and for a moment his head is crystal clear, and he _knows_ he’s going to remember this. “Yeah, you tell me that a lot.”


End file.
